


Choices

by Squeakyfingers



Category: Covert Affairs, Madam Secretary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 18:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10286429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeakyfingers/pseuds/Squeakyfingers
Summary: Elizabeth gets some unexpected help in her decision to become Secretary of State. One Shot. Spoilers for S1 Madam Secretary and S5 covert affairs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is primarily what happens when weird plot bunnies will not leave your brain. I just finished re-watching Covert Affairs and started on Madam Secretary. I keep seeing these two together and it’s been impossible to get them off my mind. I’m not sure it’s the most logical of meetings, but CIA ladies gotta stick together, right?

The first thing Elizabeth McCord notices after the president pulls out of her driveway is the sunlight streaming through the window. The meeting with Dalton had stretched into the late afternoon, and the sky had begun to take on a pink and orange glow as the sun set low behind the clouds. Closing her eyes, she can feel the quiet, serene atmosphere around her – the dust settling as the motorcade departs her property, rolling down the long and winding driveway back to the main roads. 

On a typical day, the view would be a salve on her frayed nerves, the stillness soothing. And though this is not a typical day, she runs through the motions in a vain attempt to settle her thoughts. First, filling the kettle and placing it on the stovetop. Then puttering around the cupboard for a stash of chamomile tea she had saved for just such occasions. 

She’s done this more times than she can remember. After a particularly bad fight with Henry, or a tough day at work. The steps an attempt to bring a feeling of normalcy to her day, routine. 

There's a mug in one hand and notebook in the other and she's making her way onto the porch front, when the second car in as many hours, turns onto her property.

 _“Dalton did say he’d be persistent,_ ” she thinks idly to herself for a moment, before shelving the thought. Given the earlier fanfare and Dalton’s apparent flare for the dramatic despite his CIA training, this was subdued by comparison. The only similarity being the color of the vehicle in question, a black range rover, which by now was slowing to a stop in front of the house.

The dust kicks up again as the driver side door opens, revealing a slender form, black boots landing softly in the dirt, blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze. Elizabeth abandons the notebook, tossing it haphazardly on the swing behind her, and leans against the wood frame of the porch.

“Well this is certainly a surprise.” 

“Secretary McCord.” Elizabeth sees a smirk play upon the blonde’s lips as her visitor tests out the title, drawing the words out in a low smoky drawl. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Hadn’t thought much about it, yet.” She lies, smoothly, as if the title hasn’t played over and over in her mind since her meeting with Dalton.

“If I know you, you’ve already made your decision.”

Elizabeth finds herself crossing her arms in a defensive position, steeling her nerves. “It’s been a long time, Joan. A lot has changed, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“I could say the same thing,” she replies, walking up to the porch and leaning against the railings. 

“Oh, I think the news has done a pretty good job of keeping me up to date. At least where your husband is concerned.” She doesn’t intend for the statement to drip with morality; perhaps the distance she has put between her old life and her new one have deadened the memories of her own ethical ambiguity. But the damage is done, and now it’s Joan’s turn on the defensive, not that she’d show it. Her eyes, betray her calm demeanor in a way only a trained operative would detect, and Elizabeth senses she’s hit a nerve. 

“You, of all people, should know better than to believe what you hear on the news.” Joan pauses for a beat, and then her eyes soften, “Though Arthur would probably be thrilled that you were so thoroughly convinced by his act of martyrdom. He certainly enjoys any acknowledgement of his spy craft. Especially from such an esteemed former colleague.”

“I bet. You want to come in?” 

Afternoon has turned into evening, and Elizabeth finds herself waving her companion through the door and into the living room, setting her mug down on the coffee table before settling into couch. 

“Thanks.” 

There’s a low buzz, and she watches Joan fish her cell phone out of her purse and answer it, a look of apology written across her features. The analyst in her can’t help but overhear as Joan turns to focus on the call.

“I’ll just be another hour or two, I promise.” There’s a pause and Joan takes up a seat in the chair adjacent to her. “Is he still running a fever? Mhmm...okay. Keep an eye on him and I’ll be home soon. Love you too, bye.”

“So, THAT rumor is true.” Elizabeth cocks an eyebrow in her direction, arms crossed. “Of all the chatter, I hear, which I promise isn’t that much, that one wasn’t even in the top ten.”

“You must still be doing those spy reunions? Analysts are always so eager to gossip.” She returns the phone to its place in her purse and replaces it with a photo. “His name’s Mackenzie.”

“He’s gorgeous.” 

“He’s nine months old and getting over his first ear infection. Arthur’s beside himself and in need of a rescue. Which means I should probably get to my reason for stopping by.” Joan’s expression hardens once more, returning to the business at hand.

“I gather it has something to do with the president’s offer. Which begs the question, how on earth did you learn about it so quickly? He just asked me a few hours ago,” she holds her hand up. “Wait, don’t answer that, I’m not sure that I want to know.”

“I am a spy, Bess. And rather high up the food chain, so to speak.”

Elizabeth winces at the nickname. It feels foreign coming from someone so removed from her current life. 

“Isabelle may have alluded something to that effect, not that I ever get specifics.” 

“Specifics are something I can’t really get into either. All I can say is an opportunity has arisen recently that, should you take the post, would allow us the opportunity to work closely together.” Elizabeth turns to answer, but she presses on, “It’d be a fantastic opportunity for you…and I’ll admit, I’d love a friendly face in the state department.”

“So, this is a plea for an ally?” 

“An ally, I suppose…yes. On that account my reason for being here is a bit selfish. But also…” It takes Joan a moment to gather her thoughts, “I’ve learned some hard lessons recently. Mostly, in regards to whom I can trust, in the agency and beyond. I want to affect real change, with less bureaucratic bullshit. I want to rewrite the rules, Bess. We’re similar, in that way, I think.”

“Dalton gave me the same speech.”

“Dalton’s a smart man.”

There’s a silence between the two of them. For a moment, Elizabeth thinks of honor, of duty, of service. Possibly, of effecting change.

And then, she thinks of her family. 

“I haven’t even talked to Henry, yet. I have my family to consider Joanie. This job, it would change everything.”

It feels like a line, as she says it, but it’s the truth. She and Henry had built their life, their relationship, on honesty. When that trust was truly tested, that ethical line nearly crossed, she’d done what she thought was best, retired from the CIA. 

“You’re right, Bess. It would. But maybe not in the way you think. Just give it some thought.” 

Elizabeth watches as Joan gathers her things to leave, slipping her purse over her shoulder. 

“Joanie…” Her voice is barely a whisper as the familiar nickname spills from her lips. 

“Yea?”

“You and Arthur, how do you do it?”

“What ‘it’, are you referring to, exactly?” 

“The secrets.”

Joan stops, her hand resting on the door handle, and sighs, “There was a time, a few years ago, when I honestly wouldn’t have been able to answer that question. Arthur and I…well it was a rough time, for the both of us. We’d hit that point. You know that point all couples in our line of work experience, when you decide what’s more important, career or family.”

She stops a moment, “For you it was Bagdad?”

Elizabeth nods, “Yes.”

“For us…well, Arthur’s job was on the line…and I was being vetted to take it.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t. I chose him. I chose to fight for my marriage.”

The acknowledgment Joan had made the same choice she had bewilders her, “You haven’t answered my question, Joan.”

“Arthur told me once, _‘we work in a job where there is misdirection, double talking, and sometimes lies but here’s the truth. I want this to work between us’_. So, that’s what we do, we make it work. We always choose each other…at least we do now.” 

As if on cue the door opens, and Henry breezes through, recognition spreading across his features as he notices their guest.

“Joan! Been a long time. How’s Arthur?”

“He’s well, Henry. Thanks for asking.”

“Staying for dinner?” He asks, his features bright from the chilly evening air.

“Normally I would love to, but I should get back to DC. If the traffic cooperates I might just make it in time to put my son to bed.” There’s a smile that plays on Joan’s lips, and Elizabeth catches Henry’s shocked expression.

“I had the same reaction, babe,” she chuckles lightly, getting up from the sofa to meet her husband. His embrace comforting, grounding.

“Seems, I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Joan slips through the door, and back out into the clear Virginia evening. “Give it serious consideration, Bess. You’re not done, yet.”

“I will. Thanks.” She replies, nestling further into Henry’s arm’s.

“And Bess?”

“Yea, Joanie?”

She sticks her thumb in Henry’s direction, “Don’t forget, always choose him.”

\-- Fin.


End file.
